


Only Fools Waltz In

by d0g-bless (d0gbless)



Category: Voltron: Legendary Defender
Genre: Alternate Universe - Dance, Alternate Universe - Student/Teacher, Ballroom Dancing, Crushes, Dance Instructor!Shiro, Dance partners, Dancer!Pidge, Everyone Is An Adult, F/M, Feelings Realization, First Dance, LLF Comment Project, Mutual Pining, Waltzing, kiss
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-12-24
Updated: 2019-12-24
Packaged: 2021-02-26 01:42:11
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,843
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21935404
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/d0gbless/pseuds/d0g-bless
Summary: Shiro fell in love with the way Pidge danced: freely and passionately, as if dance was the only thing she cared about. Watching her made him fall in love with dance all over again.After months of instructing Pidge in the ways of ballroom dance, it's only now, as Shiro waltzes with her in the middle of her first competition, that he realizes he's fallen in love with her.
Relationships: Pidge | Katie Holt/Shiro
Comments: 22
Kudos: 45





	Only Fools Waltz In

**Author's Note:**

  * For [owenna6](https://archiveofourown.org/gifts?recipient=owenna6).



> This is for the 2019 Shidge Secret Santa event!
> 
> My gift is for owenna6, who does amazing traditional art. This fic is heavily inspired by her [shidge sport dance AU art.](https://www.instagram.com/owenna6/) Definitely take a look!
> 
> Enjoy!

Pidge’s stomach is in knots as she leans over the balcony rail. It’s not because she fears heights. She savors the sensation of falling as long as there’s a safe place to land. Her dad’s an aircraft engineer and her brother’s a pilot. Being up in the air feels like home. Against all logic, being several feet above everyone else feels safer to her.

Observing her fellow ballroom dance competitors on the floor below makes her feel like she’s about to crash land. She’s watched plenty of ballroom dance competitions before, but that was when she competed in the Latin category. The cha-cha-cha, samba, rumba, _pasa doble_ , and jive gave Pidge space between her and her partner. She felt free to go loose and dance through the evening.

The only thing loose about the ballroom dance category is the dress she wears. She could strut all night in a tight-fitting costume and still feel confident in the judges’ eyes. But in this gown, she felt like a princess who was about to be kidnapped at any second. There would be no escaping from the hold of her partner in closed position hell. Ballroom dances — Viennese and traditional waltzes, slow foxtrot, quickstep, and tango — forced her to stay linked to her partner. If she were to let go of his hand for even a second, she and her partner would be penalized. Even at the open level and with her partner’s expertise, one or two docked points would be enough to prevent her from climbing the ranks.

“We made it to the next round, thanks to your excellent footwork on the tango.” Her partner’s voice draws Pidge out of her toxic headspace. Pidge doesn’t have to look over her shoulder or turn around to know that Shiro’s beaming at her, his star pupil.

Pidge shrugs it off. “It’s the closest thing your favorite category has to Latin dancing. That’s probably the only reason we scored well.” She mentally kicks herself for speaking that way to him. He’s a nice guy, a phrase that makes Pidge want to dry heave. Her ex and former Latin dance partner called himself a “nice guy,” and suffice to say, he was definitely not that.

“I’m serious,” Shiro says. “I haven’t competed in a very long time.” Shiro takes a step closer to her. “I’m really glad you asked me to dance with you.”

Before Pidge can reply, an ugly crackling sound bursts out of an old PA system. “Couple number five, please head to the dance floor.”

“That’s us.” Shiro offers Pidge his hand. “Shall we?”

Her throat tightens. God, she wants to say something smooth, a confident “we shall,” “let’s,” or at the very least, a “yes.” Instead, Pidge manages a nod. It’s nearly impossible to stay composed when he looks so dapper in his outfit, a simple tux. Back at the studio, Shiro wears fitted deep-V neck T-shirts that cling to every angle of his body, so it’s strange to see him in a more conservative outfit. His muscles are there, slightly straining his black sleeves.

She takes a deep breath and his hand, and together, they make their way to the dance floor.

* * *

The waltz is by far Pidge’s greatest fear. Shiro feels it in her sweaty palms, the stiffness in her limbs, the deer-in-the-headlights look in her eyes. Clear as a bell, he can almost hear her listing the things she hates about this dance and what could happen: _too slow, judges will notice my mistakes, not used to dancing while in a gown, everything is going to implode_.

But what’s even more clear to him is that she’s one of the most talented dancers he’s seen in years. Her tryout blew him away. Perhaps he’s a little biased, seeing as his best friend from high school dragged his little sister to try out even though she’d already missed the semi-annual audition. But saying no to Matt Holt was like getting your arm amputated. The procedure could be painless, but no amount of planning prepares you for the daily frustrations of learning to live without that limb, or in Matt’s case, an endless barrage of annoying messages.

Even without Matt’s insistence, Shiro would have chosen her. He fell in love with the way she danced: freely and passionately, as if dance was the only thing she cared about. Watching her made him fall in love with dance all over again.

Their one-on-one practices reinforced those feelings. They worked closely, her hand on his chest, dipping her and catching her in an act of trust, swirling around the room, matching the beat, and perfecting her form.

And here he is now, back on the ballroom competition floor, a place he once thought he’d never return to. It feels good to be back.

Before Pidge walks to the center of the floor, where she and Shiro are to meet, he whispers in her ear, “If you get too worried about what could go wrong, you might miss a chance to do something great.” He drops his voice even lower: “Go. Be great.”

Pidge looks as if she’s about to say something, but a cough from one of the three scoring judges implies that they’re not going to wait around much longer. She nods and scurries off to her starting position, and Shiro follows suit.

The moment the music begins to play, Pidge approaches Shiro and takes his left hand in her right. They do what almost looks like a curtsy, stretch out their free arms until their hands meet. Pidge presses her chest against Shiro’s stomach (which can’t be avoided due to their height difference) and tilts her head back and to the side.

They swirl around the dance floor in a clockwise circle, just the two of them. To an untrained eye, it appears as though Shiro’s the one doing all the work, though nothing could be further than the truth. He may be leading her, but her footwork is equally important.

Whenever they slow down at the end of a twirl, Shiro and Pidge dip. It’s in these few moments that Shiro looks at Pidge’s face and sees her radiant smile.

It takes until the third dip for Shiro to realize he doesn’t love the way she dances.

He loves _her._

The realization makes him stumble, but he recomposes himself quickly. He hopes the judges didn’t notice that.

Shiro twirls Pidge for the last time. Music fades away into the night, interrupted by wild applause. They separate before the judging panel, awaiting their fated scores:

8

8.5

6.5

The audience boos that third and final score, and the judge merely shakes his head. He’s standing by that 6.5, and Shiro can’t help but feel like he let Pidge down. The 8 and 8.5 were promising, but 6.5 effectively tanked them.

He pulls her closer to him, as if that might protect her from the scores. Or maybe he’s just using her as a shield, to protect himself from the shame of losing a ballroom competition. He wants to pin the blame on him being rusty, but he knows that’s not what happened out there. His emotions got the better of him and cost Pidge a trophy she clearly deserves.

“Shiro, can we go now?” Pidge’s voice wavers. She’s probably holding back tears, and it’s all his fault.

He wraps an arm over her shoulders in a way that’s probably not appropriate given the circumstances and possibly their relationship, but Pidge doesn’t seem to mind. “Yeah,” he says. As much as he wants to wallow in pity, he refuses to let Pidge’s first and probably last ballroom competition be all about him and his feelings. “Let’s grab a bite to eat.”

* * *

Pidge can feel people’s stares on her as she and Shiro enter the line at Subway. They’re painfully overdressed, but she didn’t want to go out and celebrate the results at Cheesecake Factory or some other overpriced chain.

Pidge reaches into her wallet for her debit card, but by the time she finds it, Shiro’s already paid for the meal. “Let me pay for my order,” she says, but Shiro waves the suggestion off.

“It’s on me.” His tone brooks no argument, so Pidge grabs her six-inch meatball marinara sandwich and takes a seat; Shiro takes the spot across from her. “I’m sorry about the last dance. What happened is my fault.”

Pidge raises a brow and takes a giant bite into her sandwich.

“I, uh, got a little distracted on the third dip.” He scratches the nape of his neck. Is this something he should even be telling a student? Granted, they’re only three years apart in age, and he’s never done anything to her or would ever abuse his power over her. The very idea of doing such a thing makes his skin crawl and stomach twist. Maybe getting the sweet onion sauce on his sandwich was a bad idea. “It’s not your fault,” he reiterates. “It’s mine.”

“You already said that,” Pidge says. “It’s fine. I did a ballroom competition and didn’t do terribly.”

“You did an amazing job, and I wouldn’t have done this with just anyone.” He means it. “When I saw you audition at my studio, I knew you could do anything you set your mind to. I haven’t seen anyone dance the way you do in a long time.” He can’t help but smile at the memory. “I stopped doing competitive ballroom because I didn’t feel it the way I used to about it. But then, I saw you.”

Pidge blushes and looks away. “Thanks,” she mumbles. “That’s kind of you to say.”

“I’m not just saying it, Pidge. I’m serious.” He rests his hand on top of hers and gives a gentle squeeze. “And tonight, on that third dip, I realized it’s not just your dancing that I like. It’s _you._ ”

Her head snaps up at his confession, expression unreadable. “Are you saying that my good looks are what killed our waltz tonight?” Her lower lip juts out into a quivering pout.

“No, that’s not what I meant —"

Pidge smirks. “That’s too bad. I like that explanation better.” She drops her voice to a whisper. “But not as much as I like you.” Pidge leans in to kiss Shiro mid-groan (it’s not a good line, she’ll give him that) and is pleased to discover that he’s a good kisser with one exception.

She jerks back and chugs as much of her drink as she can. “Next time we do this, let’s not eat with garlic and sweet onion stuff.”

Shiro’s dazed, still not entirely sure what just happened. “Next time?” he says with a lazy smile. “You want to do another ballroom dance competition?”

“On one condition,” Pidge says.

“Name it, and it’s yours.” If that meant flying to the moon and back, he’d do it without hesitation.

“I’ll do more ballroom competitions, but only with you as my partner.”

“Good,” Shiro says, “I wouldn’t want to dance with anyone else.”

**Author's Note:**

> This story is part of the [LLF Comment Project](https://longlivefeedback.tumblr.com/llfcommentproject), which was created to improve communication between readers and authors. This author invites and appreciates feedback, including:
> 
>   * Short comments
>   * Long comments
>   * Questions
>   * Constructive criticism
>   * <3 as extra kudos
>   * Reader-reader interaction
> 

> 
> This author replies to comments.


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